Realization
by JennyMcS
Summary: The case is stalled, but other things are just getting started. BA
1. Chapter 1

In the end, it was something so simple. It wasn't a deathbed confession, it wasn't after the end of a terrible case, it wasn't in the aftermath of another bad phone call from Carmel Ridge, and it wasn't anything, really. Just one slip off the tightrope he'd been walking for so long. The irony was that it wasn't even him that tripped.

They were walking down the street, like they had a thousand times before. If he thought about it- if he calculated it- they had walked so many blocks together. They had been all over the city. They had taken their deep breaths as they quickly approached crime scenes. They had walked slowly, heads together, talking in low voices after leaving a witness's house. They had run in pursuit of a suspect and ambled over to the bar on a Friday night.

But this day, on the way back from the driest of interviews, with someone who was not going to help their case at all, her heel caught on something and she stumbled.

"Crap!" she said, and clutched his arm. He automatically reached his arm around to steady her. She leaned against him briefly, looking up, long bangs half in her face, laughing and shaking her head.

He smiled and looked down, his arm still around her, her hand still on his arm, her face still tilted up and laughing, and everything in the world stood still. For him. She quickly recovered, shook her head, glanced at her heel ruefully, steadied herself and kept walking.

For him, everything was perfectly quiet as he watched her walk away. Something inside of him had been bending for so long that he had foolishly thought it would never break. It had withstood so much, and for so long. Her loyalty, and her caring, and her bravery, her matter of fact acceptance of him, and her.

Bobby was surprised there was not an audible sound to the last, thin thread snapping. He closed his eyes briefly. He might be a master at avoidance, but he wasn't a liar, not even to himself. He stood for a brief second and acknowledged what was true.

He wanted her to grab his arm when she was stumbling. But not just on this street. He wanted her to reach for him anytime she was falling. He wanted his arms to steady her always, through anything. He wanted to see her laughing face tilted up to look up at him, while he smiled and bent his head to….

"Oh Christ." he thought weakly. He shook his head and took a few long steps to catch up with her.

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She chattered as they entered the elevator together, rolling her eyes about another dead-end, throwing out suggestions about phone logs and credit card receipts. He made appropriate responses and watched her she punched the button to their floor. Everything about her was normal, every-day, so perfectly Alex.

Her tailored pants, the small gold earrings, the subtle, almost non-existent perfume, everything about her was so right, and so pleasing to him, and he admitted to himself that it had been that way for a long time. How many times had just seeing her walking towards her desk in the morning filled him with happiness?

As she flipped through her notes, he covertly examined her eyelashes and remembered times when he had seen her without any make-up, and how her eyelashes had been the same color as her hair. Remembered her yawning at a 3am crime scene, and wondered how she would look at 3 am under different circumstances- lazy and sleepy in his bed.

He closed his eyes briefly and indulged. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Well?" she said, looking at him closely.

He didn't say anything, just opened his eyes and looked back as the elevator doors slid open.

She smiled and shook her head as she exited the elevator.

"I can tell you've got something brewing in that head of yours. I guess you'll tell me when you're ready," she tossed over her shoulder, "But in the meantime, I'm going to go over those phone logs again."

She glanced back briefly.

"When you're ready to share, I'll be all ears."

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"Ew," she groused. He looked up and couldn't hide a smile as she dropped a chunk of green pepper onto a napkin. She looked up, saw his smile and grinned back, briefly. Then she went back to the phone logs, stopping every once in a while to absently spear a forkful of salad.

Bobby went back to staring unseeingly at his computer screen and shifted in his chair uncomfortably. His mind had been running on a tortuous path all afternoon. Seeing Eames picking peppers off her salad should not make his heart swell with joy. It shouldn't make him want to snatch the salad away and dig through it until every offending pepper was removed. And it should definitely not make him want to scoop her off her chair and set her in his lap, stroke her hair, settle his hand at the nape of her neck and pull her head towards his.

"What's going on with you today?" Her voice, lowered and directed only to him, startled him. He looked up quickly. She was leaning slightly towards him, frowning slightly. "You've barely said a word since we got back from that last interview."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down. When he looked up, she was still looking at him, puzzled.

"Oh, sorry. No, it's just…I mean…" he trailed off and looked at her.

She raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

"I just..um…just thinking through some things…" he stammered slightly.

"Okay, you're still percolating something. Just let me know when you need some help."

He stared back for a brief second, enjoying how warm and understanding her eyes were. Imagined those same eyes, that same look, as she caressed his face. He would pull her closer and…

She bent her back to her notes. He realized he was still staring at her and slowly turned his head back to his computer screen.

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	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Thanks for all the nice reviews everyone, I really appreciate it. I'm planning on this story being 6-7 chapters, so I hope everyone will stick with me- this is my first fan fiction! I do have to warn everyone- this will not be a casefile- I admire everyone who can write those, but that is definitely beyond my grasp.

* * *

A few weeks had passed since what Bobby had dubbed "The Incident" had occurred. Since he had realized that he was helplessly in love with Eames, his work performance had not suffered. His behavior towards her had not changed. He prided himself on this. 

If every working hour was at least halfway dedicated to making sure she didn't sense anything different, and every non-working hour was consumed with thoughts of her and a minute dissection of their interaction that day, well, so be it. He had come to the conclusion that their friendship and trust and bond formed the ideal basis for a romantic relationship. And after arriving at this conclusion, he knew that although this was logical and well-reasoned, it didn't account for the way he dreamed about her and fantasized about her and loved every single thing about her.

He imagined vacations they would take together, and how he would show her Paris, and make love to her in thousand thread count sheets at the Ritz. But also how he would love every minute of time they spent at her family's house on the shore, playing volleyball on the beach during the day and laughing and moaning as their sunburned bodies rubbed against each other at night.

He imagined museums and baseball games and dinners eaten out and dinners eaten in. Sunday papers in bed and runs in the park. Hand-holding and kissing. God, he imagined lots of kissing.

But there was a lot to lose. As much as he fantasized what it would be like to have her, and be with her, he could not imagine how it would be to tell her how he felt. So, he would wait and see. Detachedly observe, turn up the charm a bit, manipulate situations so they spent a little more time together, calculate his chances, perhaps drop a few oblique hints, and see what happened. Take it slowly- very, very slowly.

That had all changed due to her damn hardwood floors. He mentally shook his fist at the sky, cursing the day he agreed that hardwood did have advantages over carpet. God, he was such an idiot. And what the hell was wrong with carpet anyways?

It had started a few months ago, over a quick lunch. Alex had told him about her plans to do some remodeling. She had brought it up a few times since- furniture shopping with her sister, what in the world was the difference between eggshell & semi-gloss paint, new carpet vs. hardwood floors. He had listened and given his opinions as requested.

Then, suddenly, a few weeks ago, she was getting hardwood floors installed- her brother knew a guy who installed them, and this floor guy was hooking her up with the wood at a contractor's price. At some point, the "Floor Guy" became "Dave", and Dave had personally come out to measure and Dave had advised her to go with pine, and just today Alex mentioned that Dave had stopped by on Friday night after a job with some different wood stain choices and a 6 pack of beer and wasn't that nice?

Now Bobby was at the gym, working over an innocent heavy bag, agonizing over the fact that Eames and some completely unknown and uninvestigated flooring guy had been drinking beers on Friday night. And she had seemed happy about it. Goddammit.

Bobby viciously drilled the bag several times in quick succession, picturing Dave's face. OK, he hadn't actually seen Dave's face yet, but at this rate, it wouldn't be long. Stupid fucking Dave and his stupid fucking hardwood floors. He rained a quick series of punches on the bag. Soon Alex would be dating him, and then they would probably get married. They would live in Alex's house with all their gleaming hardwood floors, and their beautiful babies would get huge splinters learning to crawl on them.

His punches slowed as Bobby briefly entertained a mental image of Alex weeping on his shoulder, moaning "Why didn't I go with carpet?" as he gently stroked her back. This image was so satisfying that he paused his workout and allowed himself to savor it as he wiped his sweaty face on the arm of his t-shirt. The heavy bag came to a slow, spinning stop, and Bobby caught it. He leaned his forehead against it and willed himself back into reality.

Yes, Alex had mentioned this Dave character several times. Yes, Dave had stopped by on a Friday night and Alex had not seemed to mind. Yes, Dave was her brother's friend, and therefore probably had some Eames family stamp of approval. Dave probably called her by her first name. Yes Dave- evil, clever Dave, was going about this all right. Dave was actually making a move, while he was spending all of his energy making sure she didn't know how he felt about her. This was bad.

But what didn't make him throw his taped hands up in despair was his absolute certainty that he and Alex would be so good together. He knew she would make him happy. He knew he was the right man for her. He knew her, he adored her. He loved her. He wanted to kiss that little crinkle between her eyebrows she got when she was pissed. He would make dinner for her, every chance he got. Breakfast, too. He valued the things about her that she valued about herself. He knew she took pride in her strength and her bravery and her excellence as a detective, and he loved those things about her too.

And, goddammit, he wasn't imaging how her eyes softened when she saw him in the morning. He wasn't imaging how she casually touched him- a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over him to read a file, a hand on his arm when she saw something that piqued her interest at a crime scene.

Bobby gave the bag one last punch and headed for the locker room, pulling the tape from his hands as he walked. He stripped down in front of his locker and walked into the spartan shower area, his body pleasantly exhausted. As the water sluiced over him, he thought about how he would feel if they were together. If he was heading over to her place after this workout. If he was a regular and much-wanted visitor to her house.

He'd knock- no, scratch that, it was his fantasy, and he had a key. He'd open the door, put his keys on the little table next to the door, and drop his gym bag on the carpeted floor. She'd be standing at the counter top that separated her living room from the kitchen, going through her mail. He'd come up behind her and wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck. She'd lean back into him; reach a hand around to ruffle his wet hair.

"Mmm," she'd say, "How was your workout?"

He'd bring his hands up and cup her breasts. Gently squeeze, and then run his thumbs over her nipples.

"It was good. I missed you, though." he'd say, kissing his way down her neck.

She'd let her head rest back against his shoulder, and lean her body into his. He'd remove one hand from her breast and run it slowly down onto her stomach, pulling her body flush against his. His erection would push up against her, and she would….

Voices entering the locker room snapped Bobby out of his fantasy. He turned off the water, grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist. He grabbed a second towel and scrubbed at his wet hair as he walked back towards his locker.

He couldn't get these images out of his mind, and nothing helped. Nothing.

His earlier plan, to wait and see and tiptoe around the subject was not going to do it. In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. Eames valued plain talk. She said what was on her mind and expected other to do the same.

As he dried off in front of his locker, he calculated. It was Monday. If Dave was going to ask her out, he would probably make the date for Saturday night. OK, four days. Five if you counted today. And he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the long and lame delay! I do want to assure any readers that the remaining chapters are not only plotted but mostly written.

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Home from the gym, Bobby methodically went about making something to eat. He pan-seared a nice cut of ahi and steamed some broccoli, and felt a little better as he ate. At least one part of his plan was going well- the plan where he lost his gut and got in better shape. Better shape for her, if he was honest.

The rest of his plan, though…he needed a different plan. He slowly chewed his healthy meal and allowed himself to completely abandon his former cautious and analytical strategy. His feigned indifference towards Eames was driving her right into Dave's lecherous, varnish-stained hands.

He shook his head as he swallowed his last bite of fish. If this Dave character was pursuing her, could there be other men? His eyes narrowed as he considered how Ross had made it a habit to stop by Eames' desk some mornings to discuss the Knicks' performance the night before. Logan practically painted his face orange and blue for the games, and Ross didn't seem inclined to talk basketball with him.

And Wilson, from the lab. Twice this month he'd stopped by to drop off reports that could have been faxed over, lingering to joke around with her. Bobby dropped his fork in disgust. God, why had he never noticed what a pit of vipers he worked in?

No, he had to stop thinking about the competition. He calmed himself by recalling one of his favorite quotes. "The only competition worthy of a wise man is with himself," he murmured out loud. It was interesting, because this quote was attributed, at different times, to two very different people- Washington Allston (American, 1779-1843) and Anna Brownwell Jameson (Irish, 1794-1860). While Allston was more recognized as a painter, some sources believed…STOP. Just stop, he told himself. He recognized that delving into obscure knowledge was his own form of self-soothing.

He needed to concentrate on the issue at hand. Eames. Alex. If she was here, she'd roll her eyes at him as he went off on his tangent. And that was what he wanted. Her, here, eating his wholesome dinner, laughing and insisting that they went out for ice cream to balance out the disgustingly healthiness of it all.

As he washed dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, Bobby formulated the first step of his new plan. He had to let her know how he felt. But he couldn't see his way through the intermediate steps. He worried that if he cracked the door, allowed his feelings to show, even a little, everything would rush out at once, in a torrent of kisses, and poetry whispered into her ear, and passionate declarations in several languages. OK, then. Step 1 was Stop Acting Like Such a Complete Tool - But Don't Freak Her Out. He had a plan. He was a man with a plan. He squared his shoulders, dropped the dishrag and went off to research the origins of that quotation a little more.

Bobby entered 1PP early the next morning. Step 1, he reminded himself. He settled into work. Twenty minutes later Eames' arrival was announced with a thump as she set her bag on the desk.

"Another day, another half dollar," she greeted him.

"Good morning," he smiled back. God, she looked good. The gray pants and that blue shirt. Her hair was still damp and he could smell her shampoo. His nostrils flared very slightly. Aveda Rosemary and Mint. He watched her as she settled in at her desk, rifling through her messages and turning on her laptop.

She looked up to find his eyes still on her, a slight smile playing about his lips. She grinned back.

"Well, someone's in a good mood this morning," she teased. "What put that smile on your face? Did you solve the case while I was getting my beauty rest? Or was there a new copy of _American Scientific _in your mailbox last night?"

Bobby's smile faltered. Oh God, he was grinning at her like an idiot. Or a clown. An idiot clown. He nervously shuffled his feet. His big, idiot, clown feet.

"Oh, no, nothing," he faltered, turning his eyes back to the stack of files in front of him. Shit, I cannot do this.

"Hey." Eames voice was low, the tone she used for private conversations in this very public workspace.

He looked up, carefully keeping his face neutral.

She smiled. "I'm just glad to see you in a good mood."

Her eyes were so soft and so…sincere. He held her glance. "Seeing you come in here every morning usually has that effect on me." He paused. "Sorry I don't express it more often." He bravely held her stare and watched as a slight flush bloomed across her cheeks.

"I…" she faltered a step, no snappy comeback evident. But she did not look away. I'm…glad." she finished weakly and then suddenly dropped her gaze to her suddenly fascinating laptop screen.

"Eames," he said in a low voice, causing her to abruptly look up again. "It's _Scientific American_." She laughed and threw a pencil at his head.

He bit back a smile and turned his eyes to his files.

Later that afternoon, over lunch at their regular diner, she asked him the same question she had been asking for so long. She always waited for a pause, an appropriate break.

"So, how are you doing?"

He paused, feeling as though he had to concentrate in order to stop the "Fine, just fine" that had been his answer for as long as she had been asking from coming automatically out of his mouth.

Instead, he took a sip of water and looked at her. Observed how, as always, she had stopped eating when she asked him that question. Was waiting, giving him this small opening to open up and really tell her how he was doing. How many times had this offer been made to him? How many times had he brushed it aside? And yet, here she was, her fork down, her kind eyes looking at him, patiently waiting for his answer.

"Actually, I'm feeling better these days." He shifted in the booth. He saw her small start of surprise when he continued. "I've been seeing that therapist…you know the one you recommended…the one you saw after….." he trailed off a little uncertainly.

"After Jo Gage." Alex finished for him. She was still looking at him, and her eyes were still warm and interested.

"Yeah…" he swallowed. "After Jo Gage. I've been talking to her. It's been good."

She smiled. "I'm glad."

She picked up her fork.

_Now, you idiot. Now, this is the hardest part. Now. _

He continued. "He thinks that..."

She set her fork down, and though her eyes were surprised, they were still so warm.

After an obscenely long lunch, as they walked out of the diner, he allowed himself to do something he had wanted to do for, well, forever. He allowed his hand to settle at the small of her back, exerting the tiniest bit of pressure as they walked through the doorway.

He had studied body language, and considered himself an expert at it. He had known enough women to know that he would always be an acolyte when it came to their most inner workings. But he knew Eames, and would have known in a second if she had pulled away from the slight pressure of his hand. She didn't.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Ooh, Bobby and Dave finally meet. Who is this "Dave" character? How will Bobby react? Is this chapter too long? Can you tell from the story that I had hardwood floors installed last year?

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He waited till mid-morning, after 2 fruitless witness interviews and one coffee break to casually ask, "How's the remodel going?"

Alex looked up from the fax machine and granted him a smile.

"Well, I talked to Dave last night, and now that we have everything picked out, we need to find out if I need a new sub floor- the whole price hinges on that. He's going to come out tonight, pull up some carpet, and see what's what."

He was suddenly aware of his jealousy like it was a beast in his belly. Even when involved with a woman, even when involved with a beautiful woman who got more than her fair share of male attention, that particular beast had laid low, only occasionally, under extreme provocation, deigning to raise its head slightly.

Now, with those few words, it had gotten up on all fours, sniffed the air- hackles raised and teeth bared. Soon it was going to start to howl.

He felt angry and possessive and aroused. He wanted to shove his desk to the floor and stalk over to where she stood. Crowd into her, tower over her. Pull her into him so she could feel how hard he was, for her. He wanted to kiss her, push his tongue into her mouth, run his hands up and down her body. He wanted to find Dave, wherever the hell he was, and fuck him up.

Alex's laugh pulled him back from Neanderthal days. She was smiling and talking to one of the admins as they tried to clear the fax machine's paper jam.

"Jesus, calm down." he told himself, watching her.

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Later, as work started winding down, and people around started packing it in for the day, and the room grew less crowded, he forced himself to be casual and ask, "Do you want a second opinion about all this flooring? I mean, it seems like a big decision."

She seemed a little surprised, looking up at him, a slight crinkle between her eyes. He hurried on.

"I'd love to see what you've done to the place…the new paint and all. And you said you had pictures of the furniture you ordered."

She continued looking at him, puzzled. He forced himself to sit still, look calm and smile.

She grinned back.

"Yeah, a second opinion would be great, actually," she said. Her grin turned into a full-blown smile, and he felt himself smiling back.

God, she looks happy. He floated out of the building and followed her into the car.

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Bobby's good mood continued as Eames drove them towards her house. He watched her as she chatted about her remodel. He stretched his legs out contentedly.

What was I so worried about? Dave's probably some 60 year old guy- wife, kids, grandkids.

Bobby imagined meeting Grandpa Dave- admiring pictures of his granddaughter at her high school graduation and amiably listening to his grandson's varsity football record. Listening sympathetically as he complained of prostrate troubles.

They entered the house. Alex tossed her keys down on the table by the door, and Bobby carefully set his binder down next to them. He turned in a half circle, admiring the new wall color- a warm wheat tone.

"This looks really great."

"Thanks," Alex smiled. "I really like it." She grabbed a catalogue off the counter. "Take a look at the new couch I ordered." She flipped open to a page marked by a Post-it.

Heads bent together, looking over a furniture catalogue, he felt her hair brush is arm. He felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to put his arm around her, nuzzle his face into her cheek, make a teasing comment about breaking the new couch in.

Before he could act on his impulse, he heard a truck pull up in driveway, footsteps on the porch, then a knock at the door.

Eames turned to answer it, and the jealous beast in Bobby's belly which had been dozing for a few hours woke with a start when Dave walled in.

Dave was not a grandpa. Dave was mid-30's tops- dark blond hair, bright blue eyes, lean and muscular in a sickeningly all American way. Dave was smiling and standing way too close to Alex. Dave was going to get his head busted in.

Bobby took a step towards the contractor. Luckily, this coincided with Alex's brief introduction of "Dave, this is my partner, Bobby. Bobby, this is Dave."

Bobby contented himself with ignoring Dave's easy greeting and shaking Dave's hand much harder than was socially acceptable. Dave pried his hand out of Bobby's grasp and hurried after Alex, who had moved towards the back corner of the living room.

"I thought you could take up the carpet back here," she said.

Dave knelt down. "Yeah, this'll work," he said, taking an Exacto from his breast pocket. "Let's open her up and take a look," he said, motioning for Alex to join him.

I could take him. He probably has bad knees from installing all these floors, Bobby thought.

Dave pulled up a piece of carpet and began explaining something about wood integrity . Their heads were very close together.

Yeah, I would definitely go for the knees first, Bobby thought. The knees, then the larynx, he amended. He stalked around the perimeter of the living room, making sure to adjust a few knickknacks, touch some framed photographs. Look at me flooring guy, he wanted to gloat. Look at me, I'm allowed to touch her stuff. See, I can touch whatever I want!

"Bobby, quit moving all my crap around," Alex directed, then re-bent her head to examine whatever Dave was showing her. Bobby adjusted one more picture frame and then contented himself with glowering at the back of Dave's head. Was that a burgeoning bald spot he saw? He squinted.

"All right, then, Alex. It's your lucky day. No new sub floor. So I'll order the pine flooring…"

"Pine?" interrupted Bobby skeptically, his wanderings having landed him back in the general vicinity of Dave and Alex.

"Did you discuss any other options with Alex? What about bamboo?" He turned to Alex. "Bamboo flooring is very environmentally responsible," he explained.

Alex raised one eyebrow.

Dave nodded easily. "Yeah, bamboo is popular these days, but it just doesn't have the durability of hardwood. But don't worry, Bobby," Dave said as he got to his feet, and extended a hand to help Alex up. "We're using reclaimed hardwood, so no trees will be murdered to get Alex her new floor."

"Hmm. What about the staining you're doing? Are you going to be ventilating this place properly? Alex has an extremely stressful job. She can't be coming home to a house full of fumes."

Dave looked at Bobby, then turned quizzical eyes to Alex. She shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"I'm moving in with my parents for a few days while the floors are being installed and stained, Bobby." She narrowed her eyes and shot him a look that clearly said "What the hell are you doing?"

Dave looked from Alex to Bobby, then back to Alex. "OK," he said slowly. "Well, I think that should do it. I'm just going to re-check my measurements. Do you have a tape measure handy?" He patted his pockets. "I forgot mine."

Bobby smirked. Unprofessional, he gloated inwardly.

"Sure, I've got one back in there," Alex said, gesturing to her office doorway. "Hang on a sec. I'll grab it."

She trotted off towards her office.

Dave watched Alex leave the room and glanced nervously at Bobby. Bobby watched as he visibly cast around for something to talk about.

"So, you and Alex are partners?"

Bobby took a step forward..

"Yeah, for six years," he replied, walking forward another step. "She's my partner, best friend. The one person who understands me. The one person who accepts me."

Bobby took one final step closer, now definitely violating his personal space. "Do you have anyone like that in your life, Dave?"

Dave swallowed. "I think…" he paused and glanced towards the doorway where Alex had disappeared to. "I think…I mis-judged this situation."

"Do you think so?" Bobby replied mildly.

"Yeah, I do", Dave said. "Speaking as a contractor, if there's a…a job I want, I go in with a strong bid. But sometimes there are other…um...interested parties…that I wasn't aware of…and they…"

"They have guns," Bobby finished helpfully.

Dave's eyes strayed nervously to Bobby's holster.

"They have guns and a history of erratic behavior." Bobby leaned in, eyes bright.

"Yeah," said Dave. "Anyways, Alex can't seem to find that tape measure, and it's getting late, so maybe you could just tell her I'll e-mail her a final estimate tomorrow?"

Dave edged towards the door.

"Sure," said Bobby, smiling politely as Dave fled through the door and out into the night. Good ole Dave, he thought affectionately.

Bobby cheerfully rocked on the balls of his feet and only managed to wipe the smile off his face when Alex re-appeared in the living room. She looked around.

"Did you scare Dave off?" Her eyes were unreadable.

"Oh, he had to go. Too bad, he seems nice," Bobby said in a chipper voice.

Alex's eyes narrowed and she looked at him suspiciously.

"Don't worry, he's going to e-mail you the complete estimate," he said soothingly.

Alex rolled her eyes and plopped down on the couch, kicking off her shoes. Bobby sat down next to her, watching while she rolled her neck and flipped through her mail.

He cleared his throat and she looked up. OK, this is it, he told himself.

"Do you want to get dinner tomorrow?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Sure, that sounds good. Do you want to bring over the Wagner files and look through those phone records? Because I think…"

Oh crap. OK, what had the article he had read at the gym the other day said? He took a split second to reflect that it was a sad day when he had to turn to articles in Men's Health & Fitness for dating advice, but let's face it- desperate times call for desperate measures. For all he knew, Dave might be on his way back with free crown molding. Bobby glanced nervously towards the door.

The article had said _If you want it to be a date, act like it's a date_. All right, it's time to go all in.

"No, he said. "Not take-out. Not work. No files. I mean…I am asking you to dinner. Purposely. "

Alex looked puzzled. "Bobby, the way you phrase things sometimes….You want to purposely eat dinner?"

He took a deep breath.

"No- I am purposely asking you to have dinner with me. There are reservations; I pick you up; we don't split the check." He felt his face flush. "That kind of dinner."

"That sounds like a….?" Her voice trailed off.

"A date. Yes." Bobby replied with a firmness he didn't feel, watching her closely.

Alex blushed, looked away, and then looked back at him.

"After all these years…a date?" she asked softly.

Bobby fidgeted. "I don't know where else to start...I want to show you…I don't know how else I can…"

"You want to go out on a date?" she repeated, interrupting him.

"Oh God, how many times is she going to ask me that?" he thought miserably.

"And it's not just that," he said, completely uncomfortable. "I want to go out on lots of dates. In a row. With each other. Enough dates that…"

He looked up from his miserable introspection of the floor when she started laughing.

His wounded look gave her pause.

Still laughing, she managed to say, "Purposely eating dinner, not once, but several times in a row? Bobby, you are…"

Taking in his pained expression, she moved closer, and placed one hand on his chest. She was no longer laughing out loud, but she still smiled. "There's a rumor going around that you can, you know, actually be charming."

He placed his hand over hers, caught it and kept it, snug against his chest, and finally met her warm, laughing eyes.

"Bobby," she said. "You don't seem…you don't look very happy about any of this."

She, on the other hand, did look happy. Very happy. Something inside of him loosened.

"I'll be very happy if you say yes right now to dinner. To dinner tomorrow night and, yeah, to the whole in a row thing."

Bobby swallowed, meeting her eyes as she gazed back at him. There would be no arm's distance with her. Any relationship would be almost beyond intimate. He began again.

"Look, I know…I know this is terrible timing. OK, I know that. I just want you to know that I know that. But the thing is that it will always be terrible timing. And I know …"

"Wait," she said, "just wait." She placed one hand on each side of his face as she said this, and so he waited.

"I..what you are saying…it makes me so happy. But if we….if we…there's no way back. No way. We can** never** go back." He saw that she was taking a deep breath, and meant to say more, so he interrupted her.

"Thank God," he said and kissed her, finally.

A/N: That last line is so melodramatic, but it was sooo satisfying to type. I'm a cheeseball, what can I say. Next chapter is pretty much 100 smut, hooray! Since this story has no plot, I don't feel too bad giving that away.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This is my first smut, be gentle. I know the punctuation is off in some places, but that's just my attempt at stream of consciousness.

She was so different than he had imagined. Holding her in his arms, finally, really touching her, she didn't feel tiny or fragile. She felt incredibly warm and alive and overwhelming. There was so much he wanted to touch and kiss and do all at once. He kissed her, his tongue deep in her mouth and stroking, as he walked her backwards towards the bedroom, both hands sliding down her back, under her shirt. His usually sure hands fumbled. He wanted to touch her everywhere, and take every piece of clothing that was on her off her, and help her with the buttons on his shirt, but also run his fingers through her hair and touch her face too.

They tumbled onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo, and as he toed his shoes off his brain was reduced to stating the obvious – this is real this is real this is real.

There were so many things that he didn't know and he didn't expect and he couldn't have foreseen. How unbelievably good the skin on her neck tasted, how soft the palms of her hands were as she slipped them under his shirt and ran them up his sides and over his bare shoulders, how hard he already was as he pressed her body down onto the bed, how his hands shook as he removed her pale blue bra and cupped her breasts, and most of all how she smiled and looked into his eyes.

Feeling her warm hands unbutton his shirt and slide it off made him moan out loud. He pulled his face up from where it was buried in her hair to kiss the corner of her mouth.

She ran her hands over him, then moved upwards to wind them in his hair and pressed her bare breasts into his chest. Kissed his neck, flicked her tongue against his earlobe.

He pulled her hips against his and pushed himself hard against her. She gasped, and breathed, "Bobby," into his ear.

"Alex, are we going to do this? Tell me you want this. Tell me." He had raised his head and they were eye to eye.

"We," she said, taking his hand and kissing it, "are going to do," she placed his palm against her stomach and slid it down, down, "everything." She placed his open hand on the waistband of her pants.

His chest heaved and he could practically feel his pupils dilate as he unbuttoned her pants, slid down the zipper and discovered, finally, after six fucking years, that his partner did wear matching bras and panties. He tossed her pants onto the ground, and in a feat of speed that would rival an 18 year old, wrestled his own off and threw them off the bed to join hers.

He knelt above her, drinking the sight of her in. She let him look for a long, long second, then raised her arms up, and he fell into them, and began his explorations in earnest.

-----

When she slid under the sheet and down his body to kiss his chest and stomach, he groaned and pressed the back of his head into the pillow. He felt her tongue trace around his belly button, one hand gripping his hip, the other reaching a little lower to trace him through his boxers, down and back, down and back, squeezing slightly at the top until he couldn't stand it a minute more, and instead of pulling her back up his body, he slid down to join her under the thin sheet. She laughed when their faces were even again, and they were both under the sheet, and he thought he could probably never stop kissing her.

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She was flat on her back, and he was on his side next to her. A thin sheen of sweat covered both of them, his lips and tongue on her neck, one fascinated hand unwilling to stop stroking the side of her body, feeling again and again the dip of her waist and the slight flair of her hip.

The hand that was on her breast, cupping, squeezing, running its thumb over her nipple, pulling the most beautiful noises from her, ventured lower.

When his hand reached its destination, pushed aside all flimsy barriers, then she really started to talk, and he didn't think it was possible for him to get harder, but her words, jesus. "Oh God. Yes. Please, Bobby, oh God."

When he pushed a finger inside he had to stop for a second, everything was so wet and warm, and he felt every muscle below his waist clench and was momentarily panicked that he might come right then and there. He continued kissing the side of her neck and got control of himself- enough control to flex his finger, and then push a second inside. "There…there..oh God..don't..yes..oh God…don't you dare stop."

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The cataloging part of his brain noted every single detail. That her pale blue panties weren't even off, they were tangled around her right calf. That the friction had pushed his boxers so low on his hips that the tip of his erection pushed against the bare skin of her hip as he rocked against her, that her eyes were closed, and the skin on her neck and chest was flushed a deep pink.

-----

Everything was damp and warm- the sheet they were under was trapping every bit of heat and moisture they were generating and everything was slick and salty and he licked the sweat from her neck and knew that her hand was finding the same dampness in his hair and the one rythmically squeezing his bicep was wet with their mingled sweat. He was vaguely aware that he was making sounds, panting and a low humming moan, as two fingers entered her and retreated and as his thumb rubbed and circled, and everything, every goddamn thing, was so wet and hot. He pulled his lips away from her neck and kissed down to fasten on a nipple. He flicked his tongue in time with his thumb and he felt fresh wetness on the two fingers moving rhythmically in and out of her. He began to suck on her nipple as his thumb circled and rubbed, and his fingers slid in and out, in and out, and she abruptly tensed, taunt as a bow, and her hands left his hair and his bicep, flung back, but stopped by the sheet they were under, landed near her head, and she fisted them in nothing, opening and closing on air as her orgasm rolled over her.

-----

And it was like a dream when he slowly pushed inside - her hands on his ass, she sucked on his tongue in time with his hips as she shifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist and suddenly he was impossibly deep, propped on both elbows, and he began thrusting for real.

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He knew that she was moaning, one hand still on his ass, the other running up and down his back and he knew that his hands were in her hair and his face was pressed in the hollow between her shoulder and her neck.

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And then the cataloging part of his brain quit and it was his voice he heard "Oh God" over and over as she urged him on and it rolled over him and everything tightened and and he stared into her eyes as it happened, as he felt his mouth making sounds and she never looked away, not once, as her hand moved to stroke the side of his face, looking more lovely than he had ever seen her or anyone, and he thought he probably shouted as he came and it was over in an instant but lasted forever, one hand in her hair and the other gripping her shoulder and nothing, nothing, had ever felt better than this.

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Lying belly to belly, one leg in between her warm, moist thighs, he reveled in the feeling of her running her fingers through his hair, down to his scalp, over and over.

"If I had long hair, you could cut it all off right now." His voice was a soft murmur.

She laughed.

"Is that's what you've been thinking, Samson? No one's getting their hair cut off in this relationship, OK?"

She took his hand, the one resting on her naked hip, and kissed it.

"Things are just getting good, and neither of us is going to fuck it up."

He heard her tough words, and looked into her soft eyes, and nodded.

"God, I love you," he sighed into her shoulder. "And I **can** be charming…."

She smiled as his kisses moved across her collarbone and then to her ear-to bestow a torrent of kisses, and whispered snippets of poetry, and passionate declarations in languages she did not understand.

A/N: 1 more chapter should finish this story off. Will there be more smut? Of course! Will Dave show up again? Of course! (but not during the smutty parts). Will Bobby stop acting like a goofball in places other than the bedroom? No! That's why we love him!


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